Beneath the Trees
by Randirwen
Summary: The Prince of Mirkwood makes a horrifying discovery after the Battle of the Black Gate. Will his heart endure? Is the son of Thranduil strong enough in spirit to keep his promise to the one he loves, even in despair? ONE-SHOT. M for Mature Themes and Violence.
**Disclaimer** : I do not claim ownership to any works of the Tolkien Enterprise, New Line Cinema, Sir Peter Jackson, or W.B. Yeats. Original characters (OCs) that are found in this work are asked to respectfully be used only with the author's permission. Reference websites used for translation and literary references will be listed at the end of this work.

* * *

Alright, now that all the legal BS is taken care of…

I have been trying to work on a separate multi-chapter piece, but the time and effort I take putting into it consumes more than I have. This is mostly because my style of writing (a Tolkien-related piece) works best when I am informed on what I use from Tolkien's works: dates, names, places, events, customs, histories, languages, etc. So, I decided to write a one-shot with a healthy dose of Tolkien canon, PJ movie-verse, and throw in the rest from my own ridiculous imagination. That should be quick, easy, right? Aaand this is what happened. I make things way more complicated than they have to be. Lastly, I want to say that if/when the aforementioned story gets posted that this one-shot is not necessarily a foreshadowing of the outcome in that story.

Happy reading!

* * *

 **Beneath the Trees**

* * *

Before the Black Gates of Mordor the Prince of the Woodland Realm was a sight to behold. Legolas' long white knives spun and dealt quick, seemingly effortless strikes that delivered death instantly to the enemy. He moved through the horde of orcs, goblins, and all manner of dark creatures spawned in the fell dark place beyond those gates with frightening speed and lethal grace. The elf's silver-blonde hair gleamed with his blades that caught in the few shafts of sunlight that dared to pierce through the dark clouds overhead; they were as few and far between as the hopes of the Men that he fought with. The eyes of the Sindar prince, an icy and depthless blue, began to search the masses for his companions.

Gimli he found, as well as heard, easily enough. The irritating dwarf he had come to call a friend was gleefully hacking down and hewing away at the orcs, and Legolas could distinctly hear him keeping count of his fallen enemies, even over the overwhelming clash of steel and shield.

The hobbit Pippin was fighting valiantly under the watchful eye of Mithrandir and numerous other Gondorian and Rohirric soldiers. The _perian_ was without his dearest friend, Merry, who was recovering in Minas Tirith having aided the Lady Eowyn in the destruction of the Witchking of Angmar. The courage of the halflings was beyond measure. Foolhardy though Tooks and Brandybucks may be at times, their loyalty to each other and to the company was unwavering.

The roar of a great troll-like beast drew Legolas' attention and he watched in growing fear as a mighty armor-clad Olog-hai charged toward the heir of Isildur with a heavy, spiked mace held aloft and a broad, crude blade swinging wildly. Legolas' fear turned to panic when, after meeting the creature blow for blow, Aragorn was struck hard and fell to the ground in a cloud of ash and dust. Before the man could regain his bearings, the massive foot of the Olog-hai was bearing down upon Aragorn's chest, threatening to crush his ribs and break his body entirely.

The elf could only fight on with more ferocity as he became surrounded by the host of Mordor. Legolas tried and failed to break through the line of orcs that separated him from Aragorn and the Gondorian soldiers he led, but to no avail. The Easterlings maintained their assault on the left flank of the Army of Men which Legolas and Gimli had sought to push back until the elf saw the oncoming danger that threatened Aragorn and attempted to aid him.

The wail of the Olog-hai rent the air, and Legolas was relieved to see it stumbling backward having been injured just enough to allow Aragorn to roll to his feet and stand before the creature with Anduril's blade gleaming like a beacon from his hands. The man stood battered and bruised, but his spirit and strength of will unbroken.

A great trembling began in the earth. Legolas' movements became less fluid as he found it harder to maintain his balance while the ground shook. The Easterlings and Harad he fought against were not like the orcs; they were skilled warriors who trained and excelled in combat. They did not have the excuse of being mindless dark servants as they had chosen to side with Sauron and willingly killed for his cause.

All eyes turned to the tower of Bara-Dûr as an almighty cracking was heard, followed swiftly by the tower's collapse. Legolas' joy at the disappearance of the Great Eye and the downfall of Sauron at last from the destruction of the One Ring was short-lived. Mount Doom erupted in an inferno of fire, ash, and molten rock raining death and ruin from the sky. His heart wept at the thought of the two brave _perrianath_ , Frodo and Sam, suffering such a horrific death after having labored to achieve the ultimate task to save all of Arda.

Time seemed to move slowly then for it seemed that even with the defeat of Sauron their task to vanquish evil was not yet done. Whilst Mithrandir and the Eagles took flight in the hope to rescue Frodo and Sam, the Army of Men still found themselves dealing with the remaining host of orcs, Easterlings, and Harad who had chosen not to flee. All the orcs and dark creatures were slain, but those Easterlings and Harad that laid down their arms would be pardoned. Many, however, chose to fight to the death. The Easterlings, knowing they were defeated, fought more fiercely and maliciously than before. Their attacks were deadly and dangerous, stemming from fear and anger. They fought now out of desperation; they had abandoned all sense of morality and honor seeking to spill as much of their enemy's blood as they could no matter how brutal the act was.

Upon seeing the Easterling's vicious tactics that were akin to a predator playing with its food before finally ending its misery, Legolas felt his blood begin to rage anew at the thought of entering the fray again. He spun his twin knives in hand, surveying the number of enemies before him that he would surely add his own count. Elves did not relish in the spilling of blood, but it would give him some small measure of peace to know he had brought justice to these dark men with his blades and perhaps in some way avenged the many fallen. The elf had only just been pushing off the balls of his soft-booted feet when he nearly collided with the dwarf who stepped purposefully in front of him to block his path, setting his axe before him with a dull 'thump'.

Legolas leveled the dwarf with glare at having been prevented from attacking. "What is so pressing that it would cause you to turn away from the axe work that is sorely needed here to the defeat of these dark men?"

Gimli seemed to be reluctant to divulge whatever words had been passed to him – as though he was uncertain of whether or not he should believe them himself. The dwarf grumbled to himself, becoming more and more uncomfortable under the frosty stare of the elf. It was no great wonder as to why; Legolas had spent hundreds of years watching his king-father give the very same glare to many and thus had begun to mimic it.

"Gimli!" Legolas snapped in an uncharacteristically clipped tone. "What have you to tell me, friend?"

"I feared I would be left to bring you this uncertain news. I had thought another soldier would have stopped and relayed these words, but likely as not this is the first time since we charged the Black Gate that you have stood still for more than five seconds," Gimli muttered while tapping his great, gloved fingers against the wide blade of his axe.

Legolas pursed his lips in mild annoyance. "What have I not been told, Gimli? Pray, speak quickly! For if it is as you say then this news has been much delayed."

"Aye, laddie, I'll not keep it from you. I warn you though, remember that it came to me from other soldiers whose words and eyes I cannot fully trust." Gimli gave him a meaningful look that showed his obvious wariness and discomfort. "Now, I have not seen the woman they spoke of myself. A Gondorian said he was certain that you knew her, telling me he had seen you welcome her as one from your realm when we first went into the White city." Gimli's expression turned grim. "They claim to have seen her in the ranks, Legolas; they spoke of one with golden hair and eyes as dark as a starless night."

Legolas' heart had begun to race, beating faster with every word the dwarf had spoken. Emotions that he held so carefully in check were suddenly overwhelming him: fear, despair, panic, and anger. He fought to regain his focus and control, forcing himself to take deep breaths despite the smoky air as his knuckles turned white on the handles of his knives. _It cannot possibly be true_ , he tried to reassure his racing thoughts. _Surely the years she has spent living in the dark forest of Mirkwood taught her to have some sense of self-preservation?_

With the Woodland Realm having been turned into a perilous forest full of dangerous creatures, Legolas had taken charge of training her to ensure that her skills and abilities would be unquestionable. And during that time, he never granted her any special privileges or exceptions; she was trained as though she were any other elf that wanted to be counted among the realm's Guard. Legolas remembered an entire year of physical work to build her stamina and strength, lessons and training with various weapons, and even training to defend herself with no weapons at all. A whole year had passed before he was satisfied with her progress to the point she was allowed to accompany other members of the Guard. Truth be told, Legolas would have seen her trained and tested properly after fifty years, as was customary.

But her mortal years would never allow him that luxury.

* * *

Yes, the Lady Amdirvel knew all too well how dangerous the world was.

However, Amdirvel feared losing the one who had given her so much in the world when all she had known before their meeting was as darkness to her, far more than any fear she held for dark creatures or other perils of the world. She hid her pain from him when they had spoken their parting words to each other in Minas Tirith. At least, she had tried to. She had never succeeded in hiding anything from him as he had always been able to see the truth in her eyes. Painful though it was, she had turned her face as they drew away from their farewell embrace. Amdirvel would never forgive herself – could never live with the knowledge that she had remained safely behind in the White City to act as an emissary of the Woodland Realm while Legolas rode to the Last Battle that would likely claim his life.

And so, disobeying his wishes entirely, she followed the Army of Men discreetly garbed as one of Prince Imrahil's guards. It was not too difficult as many of the Ranger of Ithilien who had joined the soldiers had builds that were much leaner, and less broad. Though, Amdirvel could do nothing to make up for her difference in height compared to the men around her. The majority were at least a half foot taller than her. However, she knew from her training that to be small allowed for quick, stealthy movements that made her enemy have to change their stance to aim down instead of ahead. Now, her small form helped to keep her concealed and unnoticed beneath the forest green hood of her cloak.

Amdirvel lost sight of Legolas during the battle, having been slowly pushed to the farthest corner the left flank occupied. She adjusted her grip on the hilt of her elven blade, her palms having become slightly sweaty with exertion. The sword had been a gift, bestowed unto her by the Elvenking Thranduil when Legolas declared that she had completed her training. Thranduil had the blade carefully crafted to complement her small frame and particular form of fighting she was best suited for. The King of the Woodland Realm had been generous, his own love for the art of swordplay making his gift all the more meaningful. Amdirvel was certain that the Elvenking would have his eyes narrowed in obvious disgust if he were to see the blade's present condition, now tainted with the black blood of orcs and a dull red from the ruthless soldiers of the East whose attacks were relentless.

Men fell all around her under the weapons of the enemy. She found herself tripping and stumbling over the many fallen as she tried to fend against three Easterlings that had begun to circle her like scavenging birds having sighted a fresh meal.

* * *

A feminine cry fell upon Legolas' ears and Gimli was witness to the look of dread that came upon the elf's face at the painful confirmation that the men had indeed spoken true: his beloved Amdirvel was fighting somewhere against an enemy that had become bloodthirsty. Legolas sprinted in the direction from which he heard the cry, his eyes flitting about.

" _Amdirvel! O le van? Amdirvel!_ " His voice rang loud and clear through the air, and Men nearby turned to look at the elf who searched desperately through the haze of smoke and flame as he nimbly leapt over the fallen, cutting down any enemy that stood within reach of his blades.

"Amdirvel!" He shouted again, this time unable to keep the fear and anger from his voice. " _Bedo annin, Amdirvel, calad vuín! O le van?_ "

There were sounds of fighting from various places as the soldiers finally brought the battle to a close with the end of the enemies that did not wish for peace but only for more death. Legolas listened more intently and heard the distinct sound of labored breathing – the breathing of a woman pushed to her very limits. As the sound of steel clashing against steel rang out with the shouts of men and the cry of a lady, Legolas began his run again heading straight toward whoever fought in the smoke ahead.

* * *

Amdirvel stood in the center of a five foot circle of space, around which the three Easterlings walked while speaking in a tongue unknown to her, jeering at the young woman who stood poised to strike in front of them despite the wounds they had been successful in giving her. She had long since abandoned her cloak, now revealed to be in dark grey leggings with tall, soft leather boots and a long grey tunic that fell to just above her knees which had simple silver stitching along the high collar that gave away its elvish origin. Beneath it was a dark green undershirt that was embroidered with an intricate pattern that marked her as a member of the Woodland Guard. A dark brown belt was cinched around her waist, resting above slightly wider hips that deviated from the majority of _ellyth_. She wore no armor other than her thick leather vambraces and a vest of elvish make made from the same material cinched tightly to her small frame. There was no magic in this armor – no spells of protection, or immunity – it was finely made to be sure, but both man and elf could wear it and still be slain with a killing blow. Her simple raiment was now blood-stained and torn.

The Easterlings were laughing and pointing, obviously pleased with their work. Amdirvel was favoring her right leg, as her left had a small, but deep cut in her upper thigh. There was a more severe wound somewhere on her left bicep; her sleeve was torn, and there was a steady dripping of blood from the point of her elbow on to the ground below.

One of the men suddenly lunged to cut the back of Amdirvel's legs from behind her. Amdirvel had been anticipating this, watching from the corner of her eye and waiting for a sign that he was about to move. When she finally heard the sharp intake of breath from behind her and the fleeting movement in her periphery, she instinctively spun away from the spot and raised her blade to bring it swiftly down upon the man whose first swing missed. The Easterling was quick enough to bring his blade around in a full arc to meet Amdirvel's sword with the ringing sound of their steel blades striking together. The Easterling pressed back against Amdirvel's sword, attempting to throw her off balance but she held her stance. The wind blew up dust and the smoke swirled around them all. Amdirvel was taken off guard for a moment as a familiar deep baritone voice echoed in her ears, and she heard her name being called.

And a moment was all the Easterlings needed to turn the tide against her.

Amdirvel's blade was sent sailing through the air to land far out of her reach among the many fallen as one grabbed her in a vice grip, pinning her arms to her sides. Her legs flailed about as she screamed for anyone to hear her, now attempting to kick the blade from the approaching Easterling's hand. Amdirvel struggled harder, and forced her panicked mind to think – to remember what she had been taught. This led Amdirvel to use all her strength to throw her head back against the Easterlings face, knocking his head hard and breaking his nose. Disoriented and in pain, the man's grip slackened. Amdirvel let herself go limp, allowing all her muscles to relax, and the sudden lack of resistance from Amdirvel made the Easterling drop her entirely.

Amdirvel looked up from where she had landed on her hands and knees to see the man that held the knife only a few feet in front of her and leering down. She began to push herself up, trying to escape his reach but his hand caught in her hair and yanked her firmly back to the ground. Amdirvel clawed at his hand with her nails but it did not bother the man in the least.

"You thought you were clever, did you little girl? Did you think you could outwit us?" The one with the blade teased as he twisted the long, dark gold and white-blonde strands in his bloodied fingers, making her cry out in pain.

Amdirvel, gasping in pain, glared up at the man from where she was kneeling on the ground, her nails still digging into his flesh. Having achieved a proper grip on his hand, and the man now paying more attention to his companions than to her, Amdirvel gave his hand an almighty twist whilst bending it back. The popping noise that followed did not give her nearly enough satisfaction as she wrenched herself away from him, a fistful of her hair left in his grasp.

While the man roared in rage at his broken wrist, Amdirvel scrambled away frantically. Her leg burned, and her left arm was nearly useless now. She tried to push herself up, making it to her feet, only to have them swept out from under her and her head crash against the earth. Her head swam, and her vision blurred from the attack. When her eyes focused again, she was being hauled to her feet by the two Easterlings who remained. Both held her arms with bone-crushing strength, and twisted them so that if she tried to escape again, she would break them in her attempt to do so.

The one whose nose she had broken and was now a bloody and bruised mess held one arm. "All that struggle for nothing!" He hissed at her.

The Easterling with the broken wrist began to approach her with the blade held in his other hand. His eyes were black as the Void. Fury radiated from him. His hand landed a hard blow that snapped her face to one side, splitting her lip with its force. Amdirvel did not cry out again. She simply stared ahead.

" _Ai! Eru, a tiro nîn!"_ Amdirvel prayed aloud, her voice a mere whisper as she let her head hang with her weakening strength.

The wind whipped her hair back from her face, and she remembered the voice that it had carried to her not long before. The voice that she had thought – hoped – that she had heard. There was no point in concealment any longer. If it was Legolas she had heard, then perhaps she might still have a chance…

"Legolas!" she screamed. " _Ni hí! Tolo annin! Lasto, Legolas! Tolo annin!"_

The Easterlings looked at her and then around themselves in apprehension.

"What did she say? Some elvish spell, or enchantment?" The one with the broken nose asked, fearing retribution.

"Fool! She is human! Nothing can come of a human uttering elvish spells," said the second holding her arms, scolding the first like a child.

"It was no spell," the Easterling with the blade said darkly, walking up to stand before Amdirvel. "She was calling out to someone. For help."

Amdirvel's eyes betrayed her then as they widened in terror, and her breath came sharp and fast. This one – the one who she had injured the most – this one knew what she said. The sadistic smile now growing on his face told her that she was right.

"Who do you call out to, girl? There are few elves here – it would be nearly impossible for them to go unnoticed. "So," He tilted her chin up with the tip of the knife, forcing her eyes up. "Do you call for one of the sons of Elrond? Or is it the prince of the Woodland Realm who travels with the heir of Isildur?"

Amdirvel glared up at him, refusing to answer.

"She called for a Legolas. Is that not the Mirkwood elf you speak of?"

"I believe it is; the son of the Elvenking, Thranduil. If she is calling for him then she must be of some worth. Think of the ransom we could receive! The Elvenking has riches and gold that would last a hundred lifetimes!" the broken-nosed Easterling proposed.

Amdirvel's heart cried at the thought of being used in such a way. Now she wished she had not called out at all. Rather she die than the Woodland Realm be forced to buy her freedom from such twisted men.

"No, I think not," said the dark-eyed leader as he studied Amdirvel. He was assessing her injuries, she realized as his eyes lingered on the blood steadily running down her arm. "Mirkwood is being burned as we speak. Who can say if the Elvenking will survive the assault to grant us a ransom? Or his son, for that matter? And there is no guarantee that she will, either." He shook his head, twirling the blade around in his hand, the malicious smile still in place. "I have not the patience for such affairs. Our time is short as it is."

It was clear to her now that the men would not let her live – that their decision was made and that they would silence her. And quickly. She had one last chance, and so she raised her voice, praying to Nienna for mercy.

" _Legolas! Veleth nîn! Asca – !"_

Her cry died on her lips as she gasped, her breath having been stolen from her. White-hot pain pierced her, and then a torturously slow burning began. She looked down to see the Easterling pulling his knife free from her body, the blade having cut through her leather vest easily with the force of the Easterling's blow.

When she felt hot breath next to her ear, she shuddered in disgust. "There is no sense in wasting your last few precious breaths screaming when they will find they have come too late to save you. Resign yourself to death. This is a war, and it has no place for little girls."

The other two Easterlings let go of her arms. Unable to bear her own weight she crumpled to the ground like a broken doll, and found herself staring up at the sky as she struggled to keep her breath even and controlled through the pain that filled every fiber of her being. The coarse and uneven rocks beneath her had sharp, broken edges that pierced her clothes like needle points.

' _You will not cry,_ ' she told herself sternly, though her inner voice was breaking with fear and tears. ' _You must be strong… stay strong… for him._ ' Again, the pain washed over her and the intensity of it made her cry out as she pressed weakly against the deep wound, desperate to stem the blood the poured through her fingers.

It may have only been a few seconds, or a few minutes that passed – to her time crawled and a whole age of the world could have passed without her knowledge. Sounds echoed. Darkness began to overtake the edges of her vision and it would not clear no matter how many times she attempted to blink the obscurity away. Amdirvel wished she could say that her body had become numb, but it was not. She had never felt pain such as what she now endured.

The fluttering of her heart intensified when she heard the sound of shouting men – swords – the singing of a bow! How she so wished to turn her head and look, but she no longer had the strength to do so. A whimper of pain and despair passed through her lips, and it was answered immediately by the cry of an elf whose feet carried him to the seemingly dead body of his beloved. When Amdirvel saw his face above her, she thanked the Valar. She was with him again; she was not alone.

* * *

The men led by Aragorn, Gimli, and Mithrandir had followed Legolas. None would ever forget the cry of anguish that filled the air as the elven prince dropped to his knees, taking the blood-soaked and battle-worn form of his love into his arms and cradling her to himself as he wept bitterly against her shoulder.

The warm breath that lightly caressed his cheek startled him, and he pulled away slowly in bewilderment, having thought by the pale color of her skin, her wounds, and the blood that covered her - that she had passed on. Deep brown eyes blinked slowly up at him, red-rimmed from fighting back tears. Her lips twitched as she tried to smile for him, for truly now she was happy. Happy, for she was in his arms again. She would not pass into death alone, laying on the cold earth and weeping silently.

Legolas had then looked over her body, and saw the damage that had been wrought. His rational mind knew there was nothing he could do – that anyone could do – to save her now. Her wounds were too grievous and the blood loss too great. But for his heart to accept her fate…

" _Man?_ " Legolas' whispered question seemed to address both her, and Eru, for his eyes looked to the heavens in his grief for an answer. " _Man, calad vuín?_ " The golden light that had awakened his feä after many long years of walking in loneliness and burdened with the sorrows his immortal life left him to endure, was now flickering like a small flame fighting to burn despite the wind that came howling with the purpose to snuff it out.

Feeling the warmth of his fingertips caressing her face tenderly and the sound of his deep and soothing voice speaking to her in elvish brought Amdirvel more comfort and relief than any sedative ever could. Her body was in pain but her heart could not endure the sight of her love shedding tears over her; she had become a broken body that could not answer him. Yet he remained, knowing that he would witness her death as slowly and painfully as she was sure to experience it.

' _Please, go!'_ she begged with her eyes. _'I do not wish for this to be your last memory of me. Meno! Go! Meno!'_

Legolas only smiled as he guessed what her narrowed eyes meant. He carefully smoothed back her tangled hair, the drying blood having darkened the gold strands to give it an auburn glow. His heart wrenched painfully at the memory that burned him sharply: the image of an auburn-haired _elleth_ , clad in the forest green colors of his home, looking up at him with a gentle smile as the light left her eyes and her feä with it.

He had failed to protect someone he loved. Again.

Legolas reluctantly tore his eyes from Amdirvel when he felt the presence of another kneeling beside him. Mithrandir looked upon the elf with pity. Legolas had always kept his stoic mask in place no matter what he was faced with whilst he was a member of the Fellowship. To see the elf shattered by one death when he had witnessed countless other horrors was unsettling.

The Istar gazed down at the one who had earned such a place of significance in the prince's heart, his dark brows raising in surprise at seeing she was not an _elleth_. His eyes locked upon the thick silver band on the second finger of the woman's left hand where a signet or House ring would be borne. There was no mistake; his eyes did not deceive him. The bright ring wrought from mithril and crafted into a band of three silver leaves that encircled each other was the signet ring of King Oropher. It had come to Legolas when he came of age over two milennia ago and was formally given the title of Prince and declared by his father as the one who would succeed him as his only son and heir.

For Legolas to have bestowed his ring that marked him as a member of the royal House of Oropher upon another was a clear declaration of his intentions. At some point, the two had plighted their troth to one another, and Legolas wanted to make it known by the giving of his ring for her to bear. Traditionally, simple silver bands were exchanged between the two who wished to be bound with witnesses to oversee the occasion, followed by at least a year long engagement before the two said their vows and exchanged the silver rings for those of gold. But in turbulent times of war it was not unheard of for an elf to do as Legolas had done.

"Ai, Thranduilion…" Mithrandir sighed in sadness. "What threads of fate have been woven to bring you two to this dreadful place?" He leaned heavily on his staff, his aged blue eyes finding the lady's expressive brown and reading them as one does a new and puzzling book. Amdirvel gazed steadily back as the Istar used his gifts to speak within her mind.

Legolas looked to Mithrandir, having started to return to his apathetic, icy expression. He dared not hope the Istar had some new ability that could aid Amdirvel. The elf felt a strong, reassuring grip on his shoulder and knew that Aragorn had come to stand beside him in his time of grief to give the wordless reminder that he was not alone. Even Gimli was near, and his dwarf-friend was so saddened by the sight before him that he found himself rubbing his eyes to rid them of any sign of tears.

"Legolas," Mithrandir spoke slowly, carefully, bringing his gaze level with the elven archer. "There is nothing I, nor anyone else, can do to prevent this. The Lady Amdirvel will pass, and she does not wish for you to bear the burden of witnessing it. Legolas, she pleads for you to go – "

"I will not be moved."

Legolas turned his face and all his awareness away from the others, focusing every thought, every emotion, and attuned every one of his senses to the one he held. Mithrandir's voice still reached his ears, delivering the message that was her last request of him:

"If you refuse to go, then she asks you to sing. 'Sing of the trees and never forget that it was beneath their leaves that you found happiness, peace, and love. And it was only with you that I was able to do the same. Return to them! I shall be there.'"

Legolas closed his eyes briefly, not allowing himself anymore tears. He would be a source of strength and comfort for her; were he able, he would take her pain upon himself. He could feel her muscles as they continued to tense in sudden spasms of pain before her entire body would return to its limp, unresponsive state. It seemed that there was nothing left of the young woman save for her slow labored breaths and the weak pulse of a heartbeat thrumming through her small body.

His despair threatened to overwhelm him again as the terrible thought dawned in his mind: poison kept her from passing painlessly into death. It was not enough for the dark creatures and men to slay their enemies. If any lingered, the poison that coated their weapons would make their end slow and miserable as it took away the body's ability to move or speak. Their mind, however, was left untouched to endure it all.

"Legolas."

The Istar's hand, worn with ages untold, covered his and left behind a thin glass vial that passed unseen before the rest of the company. Knowing there was nothing left to do for her, Legolas realized the vial of liquid could only be meant to bring Amdirvel a swift death and end her suffering.

By his hand.

Amdirvel blinked at him with troubled eyes, her brows knitting slightly with what remained of her strength there. She searched his cerulean eyes for some answer to his tormented expression, desperately seeking a sign of what prevented him from singing to her. A great pain seized her again, so forceful and piercing that it took her breath and she could not see until it had passed.

When her sight returned with her breath, she felt the brush of the silken strands that were Legolas' hair falling across her neck and collarbone as his head bent closer to hers. As he traced the curve of her cheek with his fingertips, he lifted his voice in a song that would forever be hers:

"Beloved, gaze in thine own heart  
The holy tree is growing there;  
From joy the holy branches start  
And all the trembling flowers they bear."

Legolas knew from the way her face relaxed and how her gentle brown eyes softened that his song brought her peace and precious memories to her mind's eye. Beautiful and wondrous memories full of happiness, of days spent running and chasing through glades of sunlight, of bright smiles and fits of never-ending laughter, of softly-spoken promises and tender cherishing touches shared beneath the gleaming stars of Varda. These few, perfect years they had shared together were worth more to him than anything. More than any treasure. More than his own immortal life.

"The changing colors of its fruit  
Have dowered the stars with merry light;  
The surety of its hidden root  
Has planted quiet in the night;  
The shaking of its leafy head  
Has given the waves their melody.  
And made my lips and music wed,  
Murmuring a wizard song for thee."

His voice wavered and broke as he sang the last words, just as Amdirvel's small form seized in pain once more in his arms. Legolas let the vial fall from his fingers and roll away from him so he could gently cradle her face close in one hand as his other arm continued to hold her to himself. His eyes were a window to his inner turmoil and the grief that gripped him.

"I cannot do it, _calad vuín_ ," he told her bitterly. " _Goveno nîn, Amdirvel, veleth nîn._ I have failed you. I cannot save you. And I cannot be the one to end your life – to put out that precious light." Legolas pressed his lips softly to her forehead.

As he pulled away, his weary mind barely comprehended a sudden loud movement until he found himself struggling to push himself upright from whatever great force had tried to knock him flat. Legolas was relieved to have kept his hold on Amdirvel, though she had slipped down in his arms. He looked up to see the cause of his fall and found himself at a loss for words at the sight of Gimli standing before him, his large bearded face turned a blotchy red from his own tears.

Despite what some believed, dwarves loved more than just gold, silver, and rare jewels. They cherished the women and children of their race more than any gem pulled from the earth. Family was everything; without one's family a dwarf had nothing of true value or worth in their cave.

So Gimli understood his friend's grief. And when his eyes saw the vial upon the ground and heard Legolas' words he knew the path the elf had turned from. Seeing his friend brought to his knees, hearing his cry upon finding what he held most dear in the world dying before him and the way he clung to the body that could not return his embrace or give him a parting word – Gimli could not bear the sight. It would haunt his dreams forever.

Resolved to do what his friend could not and prepared to bear his hatred until his dying day, Gimli pulled his hands free from his gloves and strode quickly around the elf to pick up the vial. "Durin, give me strength," the dwarf uttered lowly.

Gimli knocked the elf aside with a firm shove, stunning him. In those few seconds, the dwarf had bent low and tipped the vial past Amdirvel's lips, pinching the lady's nose and holding her mouth closed until she had swallowed the tonic. He then stepped away slowly, now caught in the gaze of his friend's beloved. The depthless eyes did not curse, did not accuse, and nor did they burn with hate or malice. They merely observed him, before finally turning back to her love.

Legolas stared at the empty vial in Gimli's hand. In the chaos of emotions that the elven prince waded through, anger for his friend was not yet among them. The dwarf threw the glass vial as far as the wind would carry it.

"It is done," Gimli muttered, hoping the elf might one day forgive him. "Now, finish that song of yours, elf. You can at least do the one thing she asked of you!"

Legolas stayed his grief and locked his azure eyes with Amdirvel. He had refused to be the one to bring her any more quickly to death than she already was, and so the choice was out of his hands. Now their time was short. Amidst the haze of pain he could see fear rising within her dark irises as her breathing became more difficult.

"Do not be afraid," he implored, his voice deep and reassuring. "I am here – keep looking at me, _melda_."

The son of Thranduil took her small hand in his, bringing it to his lips. "Remember those warm days in spring? Everything was still green and growing, and you wanted to see it all – I had to chase you back to the Halls for there was no other way to make you return!"

Amdirvel remembered all of it. Her first spring in Mirkwood had her running all around the forest that had yet to be touched by the Darkness. She saw things like an elfing at Yule – the forest was new, vibrant, and something she had never seen before which made it all the more wondrous and beautiful to her.

"Hold to that spring, _calad vuín_ ," he whispered, letting his own eyes close as he let the vision fill his mind. There, he saw her running ahead of him through their glade. Her light blue, silk skirts flew about her bare feet as she spun to face him with a beaming smile, the echo of her laughter hanging in the air.

He sang the last verse. The last verse of the song he'd first sung to her beneath the trees of Mirkwood:

"There the Loves a circle go,  
The flaming circle of our days.  
Gyring, spiring to and fro  
In those great ignorant leafy ways;  
Remembering all that shaken hair  
And how the winged sandals dart  
Thine eyes grow full of tender care;  
Beloved, gaze in thine own heart."

Amdirvel's body had finally stopped shuddering in pain as the deadly tonic made its way through her blood. While it filled her veins and began to slow her heart, it freed the muscles that had been held immobile by the fell poison.

She sighed in relief, and set all her will into raising her free hand to cover Legolas'. His blue eyes could not have grown any wider at the feeling of cold fingers weakly latching onto his own. Even as she smiled at him now, Legolas could hear her heartbeat growing fainter with each passing second.

"The Valar are kind…" she said, her voice soft and fragile. "Eru shows me mercy – he has taken my pain and given me the strength to speak… only enough… to say what I could not before…"

Though Legolas wished to speak, he held his tongue. Their love was much more than mere words, and he dare not waste the time they had left repeating what she already knew was beyond reproach. "Then I will hear it all! Tell me everything, _calad vuín_ , keep nothing from me now."

Her smile reached her eyes. "How I wish to…" Amdirvel studied his face, as though to memorize every angle, every nuance. "You will find peace again, _melda_ ," Her eyes became sharp with the surety of her words. " _Gweston_."

Promises were sacred to her – she would not have made it if she were at all unsure she could keep it. And the only way for him to find peace again was to be with her. As an elf, he could not follow her path in death and what would become of her feä, Legolas did not know.

"The trees, Legolas… Go, and help restore… all that was lost…" She searched his face for a sign that he understood. She knew he had seen the devastation during the march to the gates. "… the forests, the trees – so many have been burned…"

"Ithilien? You wish for me to go to Ithilien?"

She nodded earnestly, her smile beginning to fade. "Yes, restore it…"

Legolas returned it, pulling her close as the muscles of her hand lost their hold on his. "I promise you, I shall. There will be sunlight, and young trees for you to run beneath for as long as your heart desires."

His lips found hers, and they shared lover's farewell that should never have come to pass.

" _Gi melin_ ," Legolas told her, his voice full of the ardent and tender love he would forever hold for her. As her eyelids fell closed, never to re-open, Legolas buried his head in her shoulder listening to the last beats of her heart, waiting for the inevitable.

Amdirvel knew that Legolas had no doubt of her love for him and so she used her last breath to remind him of what would await him beneath the trees of a restored Ithilien.

"I will be there."

* * *

The afternoon sun warmed his bare feet and the mossy green path that covered the forest floor before him like a plush carpet. Wildflowers bloomed in vibrant shades of purple, yellow, and blue, growing in small clusters then suddenly overtaking vast breadths of the wood. The flowers' faces reached for the sun whose light filled the meadows that were not covered by the thick, leafy foliage. As the faint notes of birdsong echoed through the trees, Legolas closed his eyes and allowed the scent of earth, flora, clean air, and the pure smell left by the spring rain from earlier that morning to calm his mind.

Legolas slowly continued his walk. His eyes remained gently closed; he did not need his sight to walk through these woods. His feet knew these paths and all the land in between. For over fifty years now he had dwelt in the South of Ithilien with his kin from the now cleansed Mirkwood – newly named Eryn Lasgalen – as well as those elves who had come from Imladris and Lorien that had not yet felt the call of the Sea. Most were young yet, as far as elves were concerned, and they worked to heal the earth and the trees. Whole parts of the forest had been burned in the War of the Ring. Before passing over the Sea, having learned of the prince's plans and endeavors, the Lady Galadriel bestowed several precious gifts unto the son of Thranduil.

To restore Ithilien to its former glory would have taken centuries if not for the Lady of Lorien's generous gift of seeds, Niphredil and Elanor blossoms, and young saplings to help the forest with their special vitality and give the wounded realm the blessing of rapid and renewed growth. Indeed, all these gifts took to the earth. The Niphredil and Elanor now bloomed at the heart of the realm where Legolas had been given leave to take his company of elves, and they dwelled their now in happiness and peace with Legolas as their Lord until they would take the last ship into the West. The Prince of Eryn Lasgalen, now appointed Lord of Ithilien by its regent – the Lord Faramir, Steward of Gondor and ruler of the realm who dwelt in Eryn Arnen – was pleased with the wondrous beauty the elves had achieved in such a short time.

Legolas' heart found some small measure of peace here. The call of the Sea did not disturb him, and the ache in his heart was not as painful beneath the trees. They offered him comfort as he trailed his fingers across the bark of those within his reach, drawing strength from their wisdom. Today they whispered excitedly, but Legolas could not discern what it was that had stirred the forest. He paused in the path, his brows knitting as he listened intently with his heightened senses for any sign of what the trees spoke of.

It was not long before the sound of running feet and laughter met Legolas's ears. At least two pairs of feet could be heard, and one pair was distinctly smaller and lighter. The laughter grew louder, and Legolas thought it to be more of a gleeful giggle than a laugh.

The elf turned his head to look up the path behind him to meet the running pair as a child's voice called out in mirth, "I told you I was the faster, Eldarion! You must do better than that if you are to catch me!"

A young girl leapt out from between two trees and on to the mossy walkway, one small arm catching the strong trunk of the closest tree to change her direction so she now flew up the path toward Legolas in a whirl of sky-blue silk skirts and long golden tresses. The delighted laugh of the girl, who Legolas guessed to be ten summers old, stopped abruptly when she noticed she was not alone. Startled and curious grey-blue eyes, as glowing and vibrant as the young life which he beheld, studied him from the top of his silver-blonde hair down to his bare feet that stood upon the mossy earth. She continued to look at his bare feet a few more moments with her head tilted slightly to one side, and then the corner of her mouth raised up in an impish grin.

Legolas watched on, not yet sure what to make of the child. At first seeing her, his feä had reacted in such a way that left him feeling as though he'd momentarily had the air stolen from his lungs. His entire being suddenly felt weightless, and his thoughts came to him slowly. She looked as though she could be a child of the Eldar, and perhaps that was why he felt as he did. He had not seen an elfling in hundreds of years. His eyes could barely discern the point at the tip of her ear beneath the child's hair; it was not as defined as other elves. Who was this little girl? What did his feä know that he did not?

The girl was giggling again, shaking her head of long hair that seemed kissed by the sun's rays of light. Why would the sun not bless this child so? Legolas thought her to glow with pure joy and happiness, the way any child should. The long golden-blonde tresses that fell down the child's back were wind-blown and tousled from her play with a few stray leaves caught in the strands.

Amusement filled him as he watched her raise the hem of her dress to kick off a pair of slippers while she eyed his bare feet, saying, "Now, why did I not think of that?"

She plucked the shoes up from the ground with one hand, then bounced on the balls of her feet, letting her tiny toes wiggle in the springy moss with a satisfied smile. She skipped towards him until she was only a few feet away, then stopped to give a polite curtsy. Legolas could only smile and return the gesture, sinking to one knee before her to meet her eyes.

"Hello Master elf," she greeted brightly. "Would you be the Lord Legolas? We are looking for him!"

The prince laughed lightly, the child's eager declaration lifting his spirit. "Are you indeed _pen-tithen_? And may I know who it is that searches for me on this fine day?"

The girl pursed her lips, looking at him unflinchingly as she told him, "I am not little, Lord Legolas. I am fifteen summers!" She drew herself up proudly, though it did not help her look any taller. Or older. "I know I do not appear so. My brother Eldarion does not look to be twenty-eight summers either! He looks younger – like I do. _Naneth_ says that we are special, and that we grow slower than others because it gives us more time to enjoy the peace in Arda." She rocked back and forth on her feet, pursing her lip again. "I do not like to wait. But _naneth_ tells me all good things come with time. Do you think _naneth_ speaks truly, my lord?"

Legolas smiled fondly. "Of course I do. Your _naneth_ has given you some very wise advice. It is difficult to be patient when one is young. But you must trust your _naneth,_ dear one. The world will wait for you." She grinned at him upon hearing these words. "And, I shall not call you 'little' if it offends you, my lady. I once knew another lady who became quite upset whenever I would tease her about being small."

"Oh?" A frown now turned her lips down. "Why would you tease her so if you knew she did not like it? That was not very kind of you." She crossed her arms with her frown in place making a show of her disapproval.

The prince laughed softly at the sight, as his mind was swept away in waves of distant memories of an irritated young woman attempting several obstacles beyond her abilities to overcome, and his playful words about her height being the reason for her lack of success. Nearly always was this followed by a carefully aimed object being thrown in his direction, or else he had been in reach for her to land a 'smack' to the back of his head. Or worse, kick his legs out from under him in retaliation.

"My words were always said in gest, though at times she did not take them so lightly. I was blessed to have her love, for she never held a grudge over those words." His expression became wistful.

The bright-eyed child nodded at his words, looking thoughtful. "I think I understand. And I am certain she would forgive you for calling me 'little'." A smile lit her face and she seemed to glow like a small ray of sunlight. "I do."

Once again, Legolas felt the same sensation of not being able to properly take a breath while he let the child's small hand clasp his and tug firmly on his arm until he rose to his feet as she said, "Come! _Adar_ and _naneth_ are not far. They spoke of now being a good time for everyone to finally meet." She glanced up at him as they continued to walk. "I heard my _adar_ say that you have been waiting a long time."

Warmth filled Legolas from the hand that gently led him up the path. The grief and pain his feä had been tormented with was draining slowly away as if the tiny fingers that wrapped around his were pulling it from him. As he gazed down at the precious child who innocently bounced along ahead of him, he held no feelings or thoughts of love akin to those for a lover. Legolas could think only of his need to protect and cherish the young child before him; he thought of his new devotion to her care and comfort.

Legolas wished with his whole feä that the child was Amdirvel and that perhaps when she reached her majority her own feä would recognize his in the same way that elves would when having chosen to be reborn after their time in the Halls of Waiting. He would not know until then, and so would have to wait. He _would_ wait – until the very breaking of all Arda if that was what Eru deemed fitting.

"Anglawiel!" Called a clear, beautiful voice that Legolas recognized instantly. He had heard it many times raised in song in the Hall of Fire in Imladris. " _Calad-tithen nîn, tolo a naneth gîn!_ "

" _Telin! Telin!_ " The child answered, her pace quickening.

"Your name is Anglawiel?" Legolas managed to ask, his mouth suddenly dry. "Your parents named you 'gift of sunlight'?"

The young girl nodded with flushing cheeks just as three figures emerged onto the path. Legolas smiled when he saw his dear friends Aragorn and Arwen with their son Eldarion, who had grown in the likeness of his father and now appeared as a youth of perhaps eighteen years. All were garbed in simple, yet finely made clothing for their walk in Ithilien. Aragorn bore no sign that he was king of Gondor other than his ring, Barahir; no crown adorned his head, which had begun to show faint signs of grey amongst the dark hair. Arwen too was without any embellishments, her lilac gown seeming to float about her like the petals of a flower caught in the summer air. Her beauty had not diminished with her choice of mortality, for her ivory skin remained unblemished as well as her silky curtain of long ebony hair, and the light of the stars shone yet in her eyes. The Evenstar smiled at Legolas upon seeing him, something in her ageless eyes telling the elven prince what he would not admit to himself. The sharp grey eyes of Aragorn, who had been present the day on the plains of Morannon to witness the most tragic and terrible loss of Legolas' long life since the death of his mother, were understanding and empathetic.

The King of Men and the Evenstar had known upon their first daughter's birth that she would hold a great significance not only in their lives, but also in the life of their dear friend Legolas. Arwen had no doubt when she was born that the feä of her daughter was that of one who had already known a life in Arda. And in their certainty, they had named her Anglawiel for the gift they saw her to be.

Anglawiel released Legolas' hand, continuing to skip the rest of the distance to her family when she halted abruptly, spinning around with a look of confusion etched on her face. "My lord, what is it that you have been waiting so long for?"

After Legolas, Aragorn, and Arwen silently exchanged small bows of the head in acknowledgement of each other with obvious smiles, Legolas knelt again before the young girl being unable to deny her anything. Though grief and pain no longer plagued him unceasingly, the question was nevertheless like a piercing blade. Anglawiel could both see and sense his sadness, and Legolas watched concern grow in eyes the same deep blue as her mother's. His own burned with tears long held in check, and one finally managed to escape and roll down his cheek. Anglawiel reached up with the sleeve of her dress and gently dabbed under his eyes and at his cheek.

"There," she said quietly, after having made sure she'd dried all his tears. "Do not cry, my lord. It is too fine a day, and we are in far too beautiful a place to cry. So, there shall be no more tears." Anglawiel ended this with a tap to the elf's nose, as though she were admonishing him, which caused Legolas to choke on his laughter.

Breathing deeply to regain his sense of control, Legolas admitted, "You are right, my lady." He tapped her nose in retaliation, which she attempted to swat away. "I will shed no more tears."

Anglawiel smiled approvingly, but Legolas could still see she was waiting for an answer to her question. Catching her off guard, Legolas scooped her up in his arms and twirled her about, causing her to squeal in delight as she flew through the air. After having safely returned her to the arms of her father, who chuckled at her wind-blown appearance, Legolas finally gave the child her answer.

"Dear one, I was waiting to show the princess of Gondor the restored forests of Ithilien," Legolas told her.

As he ended his words, the sun broke through the leaves of the canopy and bathed them all in its warm, comforting light. Anglawiel smiled widely at him as the sunlight set her all aglow and her pure and joyful laugh echoed throughout the young forest and Legolas' heart.

"I wanted her to see how I have kept my promise."

* * *

Thank you for reading! Please leave a review! If you enjoyed it, tell me! If not, what didn't sit right with you? Feedback is greatly appreciated, and constructive criticism is welcomed.

I used a few of Tolkien's works as references: _The Return of the King_ , _The Peoples of Middle-Earth_ , and _Morgoth's Ring_.

The song Legolas sings is a poem by W.B. Yeats entitled "The Two Trees" (1893).

 **Translations**

*Note: The majority of my translations are Sindarin, and I attempted to keep to the Woodelven dialect when possible. Credit goes to _Merin Essi ar Quenteli -_ RealElvish . net.

 _Perian_ : hobbit  
 _Perrianath_ : hobbits  
 _Amdirvel! O le van? Amdirvel!_ : Amdirvel! Where are you? Amdirvel!  
 _Bedo annin, Amdirvel, calad vuin! O le van?_ : Speak/Answer me, Amdirvel, my beloved light! Where are you?  
 _Elleth_ : (elven) woman  
 _Ellyth_ : (elven) women  
 _Ai! Eru tiro nîn!_ : Ai! Eru, guard me!  
 _Ni hí! Tolo annin! Lasto, Legolas! Tolo annin!_ : I am here! Come to me! Listen (to my voice) Legolas! Come to me!  
 _Veleth nîn! Asca - !_ : My love! Hurry!  
 _Man, calad vuín?_ : Why, my beloved light?  
 _Meno!_ : Go/leave!  
 _Goveno nîn, Amdirvel, veleth nîn_ : Forgive me, Amdirvel, my love.  
 _Melda_ : Beloved  
 _Gweston._ : I promise.  
 _Pen-tithen_ : Little one  
 _Naneth_ : Mother  
 _Adar_ : Father  
 _Calad-tithen nîn, tolo a naneth gîn!_ : My little light, come to your mother!  
 _Telin! Telin!_ : I come! I come!


End file.
